To Warm a Winter's Night
by r8tedG
Summary: A maiden finds the cold of Winter banished by a sultry companion.
1. Chapter 1 redone

Not mine. No profit. Just for fun sharing with friends.

It was autumn when first we met, in the year's season, and in the season of my heart. I thought of love, as any maid might when setting eyes on him. But he was too wise for love, his defenses too strong. I was practical. Love is not for the practical or the defensive. Thus we shared ordinary pleasures common to all, be they man or maid, the hunt, a walk in a garden, a game of chess at a fireside. I determined to do as men do in companionship. I would put aside what most mattered in favor of light camaraderie. In time it became routine that we met after dinner in the hall of fire. Song, dance, and tales were offered. There where eves we would join in, but more often we'd find a quiet fireside for a game and let courtly entertainments go unnoticed.

Cerise and gold passed to the ice blue and white of Winter. Tapestries covered the casements to keep out the cold. The balconies were shuttered against the snows. One bitter evening, as the fire burned to embers, he rose to stoke and bank it, then added fuel. Flames flared and the wood popped and hissed. The hour was late and the hall empty but for a few straggling mistrals. Their skills brought forth a melancholy harmony. The evening passed and the game was as good as won with my queen captured. A single harper was left to coax his lament from the strings when we met eyes and he said the first words spoken since dinner.

"Check mate."

I bowed my head slightly to his victory. "You've won again and not entirely by skill. I saw you move that rook when it wasn't your turn."

"Your sight was marred from staring into the fire," Glorfindel said dismissively.

I meant it in jest and said so, but my opponent clearly found little humor in it. That he defended himself, albeit slight, betold his sense of honor had been transgressed. It would have been an embarrassment to both of us had I apologized, rather I busied myself gathering the pieces, expecting him to offer his arm to walk me to my chamber when the game was put away. He did not. His squire came from the shadows and placed before us a cup of hot mulled wine each. The night was particularly cold and the cup's warmth soothed the chill on my hands. It was potent. The scent of nutmeg swirled with the tune of the harp. When half my goblet was gone he began a story. It was a surprise, better said a shock, for he was not one to speak much needlessly.

He began to tell of the celebration of an evening long ages past, of a magenta sunset, at the gates of summer and how all seemed in order. The moon was new and the stars hidden behind a veil of cloud. In deepest dark, and after the feast, the warriors were called to arms by the tolling of the night watcher's bell. The city walls had already been scaled and the farmhouses without the walls burned. Dragons filled the sky by a dozen or more. The warriors fell to their flaming breath in hundreds. Those who survived fought hand to hand with orcs and every foul thing Morgoth twisted to his evil will. The far outnumbering enemy decimated the ranks until it was clear the bailey would be breached. Fierce Ecthelion and his forces held in reserve joined Glorfindel and his unexpended warriors to hold back the foe at point of sword and with the shield boss while the citizenry began their escape. There were some dear to him among them. Inexplicably the enemy seemed to dwindle and fall back. The lords and their men cut down stragglers until the innocent were safe. Under sound of retreat the warriors of Gondolin took up the advance and rear guard for the fleeing people.

Glorfindel stood alone before joining the rear guard. No enemy came forward. Mayhap the remnant would be spared. The men at arms led the people out through the mountain passes and he followed last with the lord of the fountain. It was harsh travel for women and younglings, but for a time they made safe passage. Then, after the burning city was well behind them, the cliff-face began to glow red. It came out of the night, a creature of enormous height and cruelty. Horned head and lashing flame, Gothmog's fissured, grey skin covered a molten soul. Ecthelion rushed to battle, Glorfindel alongside him. Scarcely had they begun but a dragon's scream split the air. It's talons gripped a ledge above them and from its back a second Balrog leapted to aid the first.

It was not a matter of choice or heroics, he explained with eyes cast down to his wine goblet. The Balrog's ambush called him to meet death, to this he was resigned. For this destiny was he created. He left Ecthelion to his own fate as fire rained down. His combatant's whip whirled while Glorfindel crouched beneath his burning shield. His vambraces glowed with heat. He smelled the sulfur of the Balrog and his own seared flesh. Somehow he threw the charred shield from his arm and advanced against it with sword and spear. His highest expectancy was but to purchase time for the others to further their escape, no more. Against hope, the injured Balrog, intent upon his prey, became heedless and lost footing. For a fleet moment it seemed an unlikely defeat for the dark forces. But in its plummet the enemy cracked its whip of fire as it went and entangled Glorfidel's hair. The victory was shattered as they fell together from the mountainside. There was fire, the pain of burning, and then a drifting away like sleep.

The legend to this point was familiar, but never had I heard it in quite this detail. I only half believed it before. I thought of the moment earlier when I accused him of cheating and the disappointment in his expression. His word and honor held for him value above gold. Glorfindel was not likely a liar, nor did I think would he embellish.

I waited, anxious to hear about Namo and Vaire and the fortress of Mandos, but he did not continue with the tale. He pushed his empty goblet to the edge of the table and his squire appeared with steaming wine to refresh the cups. This too was unusual. He always freed the boy from duty immediately after dinner so he could enjoy his evening at leisure. Something was not right, but neither did there seem to be anything wrong.

"Well," I said placing the warm goblet to my cheek.

The cold had so penetrated the walls of the great house that the fire was of little worth when not blazing. I shivered partly from cold and partly from hearing the adventure from the lips of my companion who had not spoken so many words in all our meetings together until now.

"Go on…," I demanded and drank the wine too fast while it was warm. Repeating what I had seen, I pushed my goblet to the edge of the table. It was filled again at once.

My cheeks were crimson from the wine warming my blood. Across the table I found the lord blushing as well, but doubted it was wine that caused it, for he had not drained the cup as I had.

"Are you well," I asked in concern. Mayhap the retelling was painful. This I did not voice.

"I am, but I am not sure why I told you. It is unlikely a maiden would find anything interesting in a soldier's battle stories. My apologies for any offense."

"Glorfindel," I paused for emphasis the wine making me bold. "We are friends, or so I had hoped. Finally after months you do more than mumble a greeting and think it causes me offense?"

"I do not mumble. I greet you properly. You are not much like a lady, but I treat you like one."

I could feel my mouth gape.

He swore mildly. "That is not at all what I meant. I mean you are unlike a woman in that your company is pleasant and easy, more like a male companion's."

I understood what he was trying to convey but I purposefully did not respond. I would watch him blunder. If he blushed earlier now his ears were as blood-colored as the wine.

"I mean to say, you are a cherished friend."

He stood as he spoke, this time his voice was unaccustomed loud. The crimson had traveled to his throat. His long, fair hair and pale eyes caught the color of the fire-glow. The only sign of age on his face were slight creases at the corners of those eyes. As he told of the fall of Gondolin he seemed sage-like and ancient, now youthful and unsure. I always knew my liking for him. It had grown exponentially in the last hour. Glorfindel sheepishly took his chair again.

Just then his squire, who was named Tathar, came out of his not so clever hiding on the other side of the hearth. "What he means to say, he wont, least not unless the awakening arrives first." With that the boy laid a small folded napkin of white silk in the center of the table. In his other hand was a flagon of wine which he also deposited. Tathar took his leave to the hearthside with his own drink. Glorfindel shot him a glance meant to reprimand that softened to the fondness of a smile. The slightest of it remained to share with me as he unfolded the silk. There gleamed two gold rings, one smaller, one larger, wide but unadorned. He took my right hand and placed the smaller of the two on my first finger.

"I'm glad that it fits," he whispered. "I had to guess at the size."

I placed the remaining ring on his hand as he had done for me and saw him as I had not allowed myself until now. The blue-grey of his eyes, high cheekbones, and mane of gold bejeweled him better than gems, but gems there where. His garnet smile grew to a rare laugh. He was scented with jasmine and the smoke of wood fire and pine. I would, in proper time, know the scent of that embrace with greater intricacy. No matter how the house of the golden flower multiplied, or did not, and I hoped that it would greatly, Winter's cold was gone never to return.


	2. Chapter 2 A Small Beginning

Note: In this, the second chapter of "To Warm A Winter's Night," I write from Glorfindel's point of view. Be aware the "I" in this story is Glorfindel rather than the maiden. Glorfindel begins his side of the story much earlier than the maiden and reveals a little of his soul to his squire and companion.

She walked unaware that we shared the garden. At once I kept still and from sight so she would not be disturbed. She was otherwise alone. The season's colors befit her, the richest jewel of Autumn set in ivory, with unbound auburn hair. She was dressed in a gown of forest green. The twilight of evening had come with a breeze that pressed the gown to her. It struck me in that moment that she was unlike other maidens with intricate braids and ornaments. She had no need of further adornment. In the gold of sunset she was radiant and a natural creature, in form and grace a rival to Varda. She was fascinated by the dying roses, looking long at them, and cupped a blossom in her hand as if to shelter it from the winter to come. I wondered if the beauty of her mind matched her outward perfection and what she mused upon. If I approached, if I asked, the spell of Varda might vanish, but if it remained I might join her there.

The choice was made for me. The lady looked up from the roses and stepped a pace or two in my direction. She met my gaze and offered a smile. It would have been invitation enough for her contemporary suitors. Though I willed it so, no word would pass my lips. I felt ill, knowing myself a craven of the highest order. I managed a mute bow to her before leaving.

I wanted no company but for Asfaloth, so went to him berating my cowardice. Unhappily, I found no solitude, rather Tathar was busy at spoiling my beauty, brushing down his mane. The stables were clean, with the scent of fresh hay and well kept horses. Night had fallen and the lanterns were lit. It was a comfortable setting.

My squire gave me a greeting. I returned it then gave him order to bring Asfaloth from the stall. I decided it was no bad thing that my squire met me. He was young, light hearted, and had a way of dispelling a heavy mood.

"Shall I saddle him, my lord," he asked.

"In time. I'll polish his hooves. Go on with what you were doing."

Tathar fetched a stool and rasp without being asked. I praised him but rarely, still he was one of the quickest squires I'd ever trained. I neglected polishing any hooves and watched as he began braiding a section of Asfaloth's mane. When he was done he affixed a bell to the end, winding it with a gold ribbon.

"Is that a custom of the Woodland folk," I inquired with a gesture to his work.

"It would frighten game or alert an enemy, so not an ordinary custom, but It's done on feast days." He stroked the horses shoulder heartily and spoke into his ear, "yes, this is as vain an horse as ever I've seen. The more tack and garb I dress Asfaloth in, the higher he steps." Turning to me he asked "What do you think, my lord?"

The stallion look back at his groom and gave his own approving snort and nod.

"It seems Asfaloth likes the idea. I fancy it myself."

Tathar returned to his task. A few moments passed without conversation. There were only the nocturne sounds of Autumn and the ever present murmur of the falls.

"My lord, If I may be so bold, it is not difficult to see you are troubled."

"You're going to be bold if I object or not. You never keep your place. Why should it be different this evening?"

Tathar grinned wryly without missing a step of plaiting.

I spoke a few endearments to Asfaloth, picked up a hoof and began to file. He seemed in no mood for such attention, pulling away, so I did not insist. That my difficulty was noticed was not unwelcome. I wasn't sure how to broach the subject of courting. My squire was hardly modest, swore creatively and readily, and had probably danced with every willing maiden in the valley. It didn't matter what I discussed or how, it was a fairly sure wager that if either of us where discomforted, it would be me.

"I'm interested in a maiden I chanced upon at twilight in a garden," I began and was interrupted.

"And she isn't interested in you? Ha! Just pick another. There couldn't be two who'd spurn you."

"She hasn't spurned me."

"Then what's the trouble?" Tathar peered at me around Asfaloth's gilt neck.

"There are two troubling details. First, I don't know who she is. Second, I don't know how to approach her."

Tathar swore the name Elbereth and various aspects of her anatomy. By this time he was done with braiding and belling. My vain lad shook his head and whinnied proudly. Tathar led him to his stall while making no attempt at abating his laughter. It wasn't mockery. I let it pass. He returned and made himself comfortable sitting on a hay bale near by. He offered me a flask. I took it with thanks and drank more than my share to venge his impertinence.

"Then let's first find out who she is." He tipped the flask bottom up. "Describe her."

"She's beautiful."

"You just described every woman in Imladris, " Tathar interrupted again.

"If you'd allow me to finish speaking?"

"Go on then."

"She has a rare beauty, a strange and attractive color to her hair. It is dark red, auburn I think it would be called. Her face is lovely, with full lips. Her eyes are so green and bright I could see their color even in fading light. She dressed plainly, but not commonly. Her manner is regal." The brief encounter came vividly to mind. "She has a modest smile, not silly or coy."

Tathar was pensive, then reiterated what I'd said. "So we must find a serious and majestic maiden with an unusual shade of red hair."

"Do you know who she may be?"

"Possibly," he returned, "but we must visit the greater problem of how to woo her, if indeed you are at a loss."

"No, if you think you may know her then I must see her again," I argued, "as quickly as possible."

"A brilliant thought, my lord. Let us ride now and begin to search from door to door for a beautiful maiden whose name we don't know, one you've seen only once in fading light."

"I thought you said you knew her." I was so accustomed to his dry wit I no longer showed ire, and I believe it bothered him. If so, it was a delight.

"I said it was a possibility. Now tell me the difficulty in approaching her, as you say."

"First, what is customary in courting in the realm of the Great Wood," I asked. Tathar seemed pleased for the chance to elaborate his home and people. I watched his expression brighten immediately upon the mention.

"The forest is vast," he began, "but the people are few. We are closer in number to a town than a city."

I knew it to be so. Thranduil's folk were constantly beset by the enemy, driven deeper into the woodland with the King's keep underground. To be so near so many threats cost them dearly.

He went on saying, "We know each other well. There are no strangers. It is as if we are all a kindred. It's done so naturally. You start out as playmates and grow to majority together. One day she's no longer just one among your companions, she's that yet more."

"You speak as if you have an intended," I said, for he was seldom wistful as now.

"Well, I do, but as yet she is not promised to me. There's an unspoken understanding, so I hope. Being away from her and here at Imladris has set my resolve to wed her before another can win her in my stead."

"Then you must soon travel home to settle the matter and return before the snows cover the mountain passes," I found myself truly eager that he might do so and bring news of the outcome.

"You are in earnest, my lord?"

I answered that I was in indeed in earnest. "Tell me, how will it be done? Will you ask her father?"

"To be certain, my lord," he answered, "but I'll ask her first. Should she refuse me there is no use asking for her hand."

"So your maiden has a choice," I wondered.

"She has the only choice in the end. She would have her family's approval and her father's blessing, but she's of age and will do as she pleases." He regarded me thoughtfully. "This is not _your_ custom, then? Is it quite different for the folk of Imladis?"

"As for Imladris, it seems your way may be closer the mark. I can tell you, it was nothing at all as casual in Gondolin. I was considered young when the city fell. I had been groomed for a noble's high calling and rigorously trained for battle. There was no courting."

I explained that Gondolin was a Noldor kingdom. We staunchly adhered to The Laws and Customs. So that they might not be transgressed in any way the sexes were separated in youth, especially among nobles. Boys and girls were schooled separately. We might meet on high social occasions but were strictly chaperoned. We did not so much as touch palms when we danced. There was no chance that one might have a private word with a maiden. As a prince of a great house my eventual marriage was arranged for politics and convenience. It was considered unnecessary, even scandalous, that an engaged couple keep company before the wedding.

"So, as you might see, I am at a loss as to know when to offer my hand to a maiden in courtship."

"I do see," my squire was as solemn as one in mourning. "How joyless must have been your youth."

I laughed aloud for his dismay. "One does not feel the loss of something never possessed. My youth had its own joys, the love of friendship, and the pride of achievement."

"But no merriment, that is an ill that can be remedied. There is more to life than duty, yet duty need not be neglected."

"How would you remedy a stodgy, burdened soul?" In asking I was careful to lighten my countenance for his sake, but in truth my heart was lighter as well. In the telling I began to understand that my upbringing was very strict and Mandos only bleakness.

"A small beginning," he offered as he got to his feet. Tathar brought Asfaloth's saddle to me then began to tack his own mount. "The weather is warm with a full flame gold moon. There's not likely to be another evening the same before Winter."

"I'll wager there are maidens dipping their feet in the pools under the falls on such a rare night," I added. "Mayhap there is a lady with Autumn bright tresses among them."


End file.
